


Unmoved

by thetidesisrising



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cabal, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Partnership, Protective Liz Keen, Third Estate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-29 13:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18779272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetidesisrising/pseuds/thetidesisrising
Summary: Divergence from 6x17. Liz discovers that Anna MacMahon works for the Cabal, and that the Cabal has put a hit out on Ressler. The task force turns to Red for assistance, and Liz and Ressler develop their relationship along the way.





	1. Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> It is good to be back, guys, and I know I say this every two years when I miraculously return, but this time, I plan on sticking around for a bit.
> 
> This story is in response to an anonymous prompt that I received on tumblr: "I'd love to read something about a hit put on the task force like the last episode with Samar, except with the whole team being targeted, or Liz/Ressler. I'd love to see how that could cause some angst but also some honest and tender moments between them." I tweaked it a bit so that Ressler is the only one targeted, and I really hope that I did this justice.
> 
> This story will have three chapters, two of which I have already wrote and the other of which I am currently writing. The key thing to keep in mind here is that the Third Estate is a front for the Cabal, and that Anna MacMahon works for the Cabal. 
> 
> Please read and review!! Enjoy!! xoxo

“Talk to us about who runs the Third Estate.”

Des smirked, his dark eyes gleaming.

“I saw the redhead, you know,” he said, running his tongue along the length of his lower lip. “You seem oddly fascinated with her.”

Liz fought to keep her expression neutral; in the fluorescent light of the interrogation room each quirk of her mouth and each twitch of her brow were laid barren for his interpretation.

“She is our supervisor, we admire her.”

Her tone was one of appeasement but the wording was meticulously chosen. She had severely underestimated the skill of her opponent, naïvely associating his petulant disavowal of wealth with a similar inexperience and immaturity.

He snorted, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

“I always admired virtue – but I could never imitate it.”

Liz frowned, slightly shifting forward to signal her attention.

“What do you mean?”

Des laughed humorlessly.

“It’s a shame you never paid attention in history class – he signed a secret treaty with France.”

Confounded, Liz stood, stalking from the room. She dialed Reddington’s number, fastidiously tapping her foot as she waited for him to answer.

“Ah, Lizzie!”

“I need to ask you something, it’s important,” she said, her tone business.

“Anything for you, my dear!”

“Des made a comment about Anna McMahon and then mentioned something about virtue and a secret treaty with France, do you have any idea what that means?”

Reddington sighed and she inhaled in anticipation.

“Charles II of France once said that he could always admire virtue but could never imitate it, and I feel immensely similar. He also signed the Secret Treaty of Dover with France in 1670. But do you know what is even more intriguing? The body that Charles formed to negotiate that treaty was known as the Cabal Ministry.”

Liz’s eyes widened, her leg completely stilling.

“So you’re saying that Anna MacMahon works for the Cabal?”

“It seems as though Des is.”

She hung up, quickly pocketing her phone before barging back into the interrogation room. She leaned over the top of the table, her eyes boring into Des’s. Every cell in her body was poisoned with cancerous anxiety.

“Does Anna MacMahon work for the Cabal?” she hissed, her gaze venomous.

He simpered in response.

“She told me about you,” he languidly began. “I know all about your stint as a terrorist. I also know all about the blonde one and his dalliance with depravity.”

Liz’s breath hitched. She could feel brazen panic boil up into her chest, easily sitting at the base of her throat coupled with murderous rage, each conflicting emotion struggling for release. The rage won out, and her expression turned steely.

“She wouldn’t dare,” she ground out.

Des rolled his eyes in response, clearly enjoying toying with her.

“She definitely would have, if it weren’t for Laurel Hitchen.”

Liz was visibility surprised, and she frowned in confusion.

“I don’t understand, Laurel Hitchen died at home.”

“Ah yes, but your little friend was the one who killed her.”

Liz was shocked, there was no way that Ressler could have killed Hitchen, he was the embodiment of America’s best values. His insatiable thirst for and his inexorable belief in justice was the only light in a Reddington-lit world. She did not wish to allow Des to bask in the satisfaction of her unawareness, but it was too late.

“You didn’t know?”

He seemed genuinely astonished, and Liz wanted to throttle him.

“Oh well, it doesn’t matter, he won’t live through the day.”

Liz recoiled, exploding through the door like an erupting volcano, incinerating a clear path to Aram.

“Aram,” she shouted, her voice dangerously on edge. “Where’s Ressler?”

Aram started, jolting.

“Um, he said something about having to pick up a package at the post office. Why, what’s wrong?”

Liz’s face fell. She was ghastly unhinged – the situation was swiftly spiraling out of her grasp. She took off towards the elevator, pressing her phone against her ear as it rang. Her chest heaved in consternation. She could feel her breath shortening as visions of Ressler beaten and bleeding, lifeless and broken played through her mind.

“Ressler.”

Liz leaned against the elevator wall in profound relief, throwing her head back skywards as she sighed in emancipation.

“Where are you?” she stated, her words bleeding together.

“In the car, headed to the post office. Why, what’s wrong?”

She could envision his furrowed brow in concern for her and it made her heart ache.

“You have to get back here Ressler, I just got out of interrogation with Des and –”

“Woah, Liz, slow down.”

She inhaled shakily, swallowing a sob as it bubbled within her.

“It’s Anna MacMahon, she works for the Cabal. They called out a hit on you. You need to get back here.”

The elevator doors opened and she burst forward, nearly sprinting to her car.

“Wait, MacMahon’s Cabal?”

She threw open the car door, putting her phone on speaker as she turned the key in the ignition.

“Yes, did you not hear what I said? She wants to kill you, I’m in the car is there somewhere we can meet? I can’t lose you too, Ress, I –”

“Liz, Liz, calm down, okay? You won’t lose me, I’m turning around now, okay? I, oh shit!”

Liz began to hyperventilate.

“Ressler!?”

The only response was a crashing sound and the tone of a disconnected call.

She cried out, cursing as she pressed on the gas. She vaguely remembered calling Aram, her voice breaking in hiccuped gasps.

“I need you to get a location on Ressler’s cell.”

The drive to the crash site was intrinsically blurred, her vision collapsing in on itself like a tree in a storm. She was uprooted, drifting further and further upstream. She vaguely registered the sound of sirens, her left cheek illuminated in eerie hues of blue and red. Suddenly, she was pulling over, practically leaping from the car towards the wreckage. Smoke billowed skywards, painting the world a gilded gray. She was in limbo – the world appearing to her like a morbid dreamscape. There was a body on the ground, crowned with shattered glass, and she staggered to a halt, the remnants of light in the gray dimming to a devoid black. Liz knew how it felt to have half of one’s soul sucked from them, screaming for mercy and yet inevitably knowing that none would come. She could not survive an agony like that again.

Rounding the front tire, she held her breath, and instantly released it in relief upon the sight of the man’s dark hair.

“Ressler!?” she called again, her anxiety palpable.

Her sirens wailed in response.

The tears threatened to overwhelm her, and she choked out a sob, freezing at the sound of a muffled groan. She crouched down to look into the window frame of the SUV, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of a bleeding, but very much alive, Ressler.

“Oh god, Ress.”

He smirked, eyes narrowing in a nearly indiscernible wince.

“Miss me, Keen?”

Her eyes ravished him, meticulously counting each bruise and scrape across the expanse of his skin, before settling on the piece of aluminum embedded in his left side. Ressler’s eyes flickered to where she was fixated, and he exhaled in an attempt at amusement.

“It looks worse than it feels, Keen.”

Her lip began to quiver, and she gasped out a choked sob.

Ressler’s eyes widened in concern, his expression soothing.

“Hey, Liz, I’m fine, we’re fine, okay?”

She nodded brokenly, taking deep breaths in an effort to control her breathing.

The paramedics came within seconds, and as they fished Ressler from a sea of steel and rubber, he elicited a soft smile assuring Liz of the fact that he was very much alive. Liz was immediately beside him once they placed him on the stretcher, clutching his fingers to her chest.

“It’s going to be okay, Liz,” he repeated, his voice soft.

Her demeanor remained replete with anxiety, and she turned her attention to the medic beside her.

“What’s the damage?”

“Two broken ribs, potential concussion, puncture wound on the left side of his abdomen, and about a dozen of superficial cuts,” the medic responded routinely.

She nodded again, her shoulders settling into place as she regained more control over her emotions.

“Okay, I’m riding with him.”

A soft but sound voice interrupted.

“No, Elizabeth, you are both coming with us.”

She turned on her heel, prepared to annihilate the robotic lower-level agent, but rapidly deflated upon seeing Dembe.

“Sir, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” the medic from earlier began. “He needs those ribs to be reset and stitches in his side.”

“I have a doctor with me,” Dembe reasoned.

Liz looked between the two men, visibly torn.

“I’m going with him,” Ressler asserted, nudging Liz’s chest in Dembe’s direction.

“Agent Ressler, you’ve just experienced trauma, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that.”

Liz shook her head vehemently, squeezing Ressler’s fingers tighter.

“No, if he says we’re going with him, then that’s where we’re going,” she declared.

The medic shrugged, flabbergasted.

“Alright then, suit yourselves.”


	2. Courage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a bit to update!! I've been so busy with exams. Enjoy and please review!! xoxo

The ride from the crash site was mostly silent.

Liz sat in the back with Ressler’s head perched in her lap, her fingers soothingly running through his usually gelled hair, massaging his scalp. At times, she spoke to him sharply to keep him from drifting off on the off chance that he did have a concussion. Liz recognized the circular patterns that Dembe followed, shaking off any potential tails. They arrived at the safe house an hour later, and Ressler was whisked away to a doctor that Reddington had for him on standby. Liz found herself wandering into the living room, her throat parched and aching for sweet red wine.

“Lizzy!” Reddington’s cheerful voice crowed. “Care to join us?”

He nodded his head in the direction of a freshly uncorked bottle of Côtes de Rhône. Liz smiled appreciatively and took a seat in the armchair to his right, pouring herself a glass of the sanguine liquid in the process. She settled in the silk material, allowing the cushions to swallow her whole. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that the hellish events of the afternoon were merely a heinous, grisly dream. She could almost pretend that her partner was not oozing blood from his swollen side; she could almost pretend that he was indeed safely wrapped within her arms…

“He will continue to be hunted,” Reddington said, his tone eerily flat.

Liz took another sip of her wine, willing the drink to ignite a flame within her.

“What do we do?”

Reddington seemed to consider her question, his gaze shifting to stare just above the doorway.

“I find Agent Ressler particularly delicious, don’t you? I can’t help but think that the Cabal will as well.”

Liz’s expression hardened in steely resolve.

“Ressler is not going to be used as bait!” she commanded, her jaw clenched.

Reddington chuckled, stealing a sip of his whisky.

“Screw your courage to the sticking place and we’ll not fail.”

Liz looked at him in annoyed disbelief.

“Do you really think that now is the time to be referencing _Macbeth_?” she seethed.

Reddington laughed, a Cheshire smile expanding across his face.

“Ask dear Donald, and I think that he’ll be more than happy to agree with me.”

Liz glared at him. She finished the rest of her win in one, lengthy drag, and abruptly stood, the muscles in her back howling with tension.

“Sleep well, Lizzy! Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day!”

-

When she reached the upstairs landing, she hesitated briefly before knocking on Ressler’s door.

“Come in!”

Liz drew a controlled breath, steeling herself. She softly pushed the door open, swiftly sliding into the doorway before shutting it. Ressler was propped up behind a colossal wall of pillows, clad in a red flannel and sipping an iced tea. Liz stilled, a slight smile illuminating her features. She was struck by the image he exuded; if she were not acutely aware of the shallow cut grazing his cheek she would have thought him a picture of pastoral domesticity. His expression mirrored her own, and he warmly welcomed her. She strode over to the side of the bed, positioning herself to sit on the edge by his feet. They were both silent for a moment, basking in the presence of the other’s steady breathing.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Liz said, her eyes worried and tone even.

He responded with his signature smirk, and she fondly rolled her eyes.

“As much as I enjoy getting into car accidents, do you have any idea why the Cabal wants to take me out?”

Ressler – always quick to business – drained any semblance of serenity in Liz’s posture with his comment. She sat upright, her shoulders high, distancing herself from emotion.

“Did I ever tell you why I shot Connolly?”

Ressler attempted to sit up, withholding a wince. He looked at her with concerned affection written across his brow.

“Because you were framed for the OREA bombing and Hawkins’s murder, right?”

She shook her head, averting his gaze.

“Well, yes, but, there was another reason. When I confronted him in that hotel, he blackmailed me by threatening the taskforce.”

His unease grew.

“What do you mean, Liz?”

Liz finally met his eyes, blinking back tears.

“He threatened to reveal Cooper’s illness, and Samar’s true loyalties. But, the final straw was when he threatened to expose your addiction.”

Ressler’s visage settled in understanding, his eyes bleeding affection.

“So, today Dez threatened to reveal that information again? Then why would they call a hit out on me? It makes more sense to destroy my reputation and get me fired than kill me.”

Liz relaxed, her head tilting in bewilderment.

“That’s what doesn’t make sense to me, either. He said something else about Laurel Hitchen, but I don’t see why that’s relevant, she’s dead.”

Ressler tensed, his expression growing pallid.

Liz scooted forward, settling beside his stomach.

“Ress, are you in pain?”

“No,” he gritted out, jaw clenched.

She melted into worry.

“Then, what’s wrong?”

He appeared devastatingly torn, running his uninjured hand down the side of his face in agitation. His eyes darted around the room wildly, as though he were trapped. Liz frowned deeper in concern, biting her bottom lip in apprehension. After another minute of pained silence Ressler slumped against the pillows. It was as though he lost the internal battle he had been fighting. His eyes were hollow yet full of blatant self-hatred, and Liz found herself moving closer in intrigued anticipation.

“Remember when I went to pick up my badge?”

His voice was low, confessing.

Liz’s eyes widened in realization, leaning back ever so slightly. Ressler winced.

“You’re saying you killed her?”

Ressler hung his head. He worse shame like a man wore his beard after emerging from the wilderness at the end of the hunting season – it consumed him.

“It was an accident,” he began.

Liz listened to the rest of his story in complete astoundment. Her heart broke when he spoke of Julian Gale, but it broke even more once she realized that Ressler condemned himself to face his fate alone. With evolving clarity, she truly understood the extent of her selfishness during that period of time. Her desire for the truth left good men like Ressler – her best friend, even – in trouble because she was too blind to see what was going on around her. When he concluded the harrowing tale with Gale’s death by fire she remained quiet, wrapped up in the cold embrace of guilt.

Ressler laughed humorlessly, lulling his head back.

“I guess you’ll be reporting me to Cooper, now,” he said, his tone filled to the brim with self-contempt.

“No, Liz breathed, shaking her head rapidly. “Ress, Hitchen was a criminal who needed to be taken down. But regardless her death was an accident, it’s not your fault, okay? You’re still the best man I know.”

She leaned closer again, taking his hand in her own. Ressler swallowed thickly, his gaze shifting to behold their intertwined hands.

“Are you sure about that, Liz?” he asked, quietly. “I killed someone, and then covered it up!”

Liz moved her free hand to cup his chin, lifting raising his head to meet her eyes. She did not regard him with pity, just candid warmth.

“So have I,” she confessed, her hand lingering to smooth the skin under his chin.

“Navarro,” she added, after a moment.

He shook his head vehemently.

“But that’s different!”

“Is it?” she questioned, her tone even. “I covered it up, too. In fact, I decimated four criminals in Alaska and ran. I have done terrible things too, Ress; you can’t castigate yourself without doing so to me.”

If this were confession, then Ressler was her alter, each one of her sins laid bare for him to expel. She forgot what it felt like to ease her burdens, having been so accustomed to locking everything deep within her, never to emerge.

Ressler acquiesced, nodding slowly. Liz leaned further in and pressed a lingering kiss to his left cheek. He closed his eyes at the sensation, savoring the feel of her lips on his skin. She pulled back slowly, remaining close. The air between the two morphed into unfamiliar territory, reminiscent of that unspoken time before she went on the run. His eyes darkened slightly, boring into her soul. Her breath hitched, and suddenly she leaned forward, delicately capturing his lips with hers. The kiss was sweet and unsure at first, before transitioning into something more confident and heated. Ressler pulled back first, beaming.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he said, his voice smiling.

Liz laughed airily, shifting her arms around his neck.

“I’ve wanted to do that for quite a while too,” she admitted.

They laughed together, and he kissed her again.

 They spent the rest of the evening cocooned together, talking with bouts of laughter and kissing, and Liz soon forgot about the task awaiting them tomorrow. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, the soft moon glow painting them with gilded halos.


End file.
